


Daydream Warriors

by LittleLinor



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Crossover: Love Live Sunshine, Gen, Ship tags to be added if anything makes it past the Romantic Tension stage, THE PLATONIC KUROKUMI SURE IS STRONG, featuring: TRINITY DRAGON
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-02 08:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12723540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: “Chrono… we need you to become a school idol.”cfv g/love live crossover in which everything is about MUSIC and FEELINGS and SPARKLES and also presumed dead dads, stalkers, and overturning corrupt entertainment industry companies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC IS VERY SILLY. If you take the cheesiness of cfv and the cheesiness of love live and combine them, this is what you get. But I needed something cute and fun to write, so here you go (I promise I'm still working on Pinion and the Zelda au)  
> Also this was my chance to actually write some Kumi content, because next did my girl wrong.  
> PLEASE ENJOY, and comments are always appreciated <3

“I'm sorry Miss, did I do something wrong?”  
Right away, her face twists in concern and guilt that honestly looks like _pity_.  
You hate that kind of look.  
“No, no, you're not in trouble, Chrono. I mean, your grades could use a little boost, but it's not bad enough that you'd need remedial classes, so keep up the good work and I'm sure you'll be fine, okay?”  
She smiles. Honest, but just a bit too tense to be genuine. You nod in silence.  
“… to be honest… I wanted to talk to you about your orientation form.”  
“Huh?”  
She pulls out the paper they'd made you fill last week in homeroom. 'Dreams for the future'. You'd completely forgotten about it.  
It's not like you had much to say, so you'd just written your goal and handed it in before Tokoha Anjou could get on your case about it.  
“… are… things okay at home, Chrono?”  
You stare, uncomprehending. What is she even getting at?  
“I didn't want to pry, but… You always seem so depressed, and you often hand papers that need signatures back late… and now with this…” She trails off, hesitates, then looks you in the eye, urgent. “Chrono, if you're not safe at home—”  
“Hold it right there!”  
She gasps. You wince—you'd gotten carried away out of indignation, but that's no way to talk to a teacher. And now _other_ teachers are looking in your direction. Great.  
“Sorry—look—I'm not being mistreated or anything. My aunt's just overworked a lot, and since I don't have another guardian, sometimes I have to wait a few days for her to be there in the evening to get stuff signed. I explained that to the administration at the beginning of the year!”  
“I know, but…”  
She trails off again.  
_She thought it was an excuse…_  
“… there's nothing bad going on at home. I want to be independent for my own sake. She's never said I should leave or mistreated me or anything. I just want to be able to rely on myself instead of others.”  
You look right at her as you say it, putting all your determination into it. If there's one thing you won't stand for, it's people thinking badly of the one person who took care of you and supported you all your life at the cost of hers.  
Finally, after a few moments of looking at each other, the teacher sighs and looks away.  
“Very well, then, if you're sure.” She plasters on a smile. “I'll see you in class tomorrow then. You can go.”  
You nod, and bow, and leave the office without another word.

By now, almost all the students in the corridors have dispersed, those who go home already long out of school and club-goers already busy. Aside from a couple of girls arguing over the contents of the noticeboard, you don't really meet anyone.  
The shoe lockers are likewise deserted. In the distance, you hear some rhythmical shouts; some kind of sports club training, probably.  
“So noisy,” you grumble under your breath, opening your locker.  
The stack of papers resting on your shoes almost falls.  
“Wha—”  
You catch them in extremis, although not without getting a small paper cut. Swearing under your breath, you gather them more neatly to look at them. Who even puts whole A4 sheets in someone's locker? What kind of prank is _that_?  
You take a better look at them and freeze, your shoes forgotten. It's sheet music. Loose—but numbered, you confirm—sheet music, and _handwritten_ , too. None of the melody is familiar from what you can read at a glance, and neither are the lyrics.  
**SUMMER STEP**  
“What the hell…”  
You look around. Of course, whoever put this in your locker seems to have disappeared already. You'd half hoped they'd be hiding behind a corner where you could bust them.  
_What do I even do with this?_  
Throw it away? It's the most logical course of action, but… there's something just sad and _wrong_ about throwing away someone's handwritten music. Maybe they just wrote it down from somewhere but that doesn't seem likely when it's so much easier to print it. What if they wrote it? What if it's their only copy? Whatever pushed them to put it in there, whether it's to get rid of it or out of shyness because they can't show it to anyone else, it doesn't feel right to destroy it.  
Even now, music is too precious to just let disappear like that. This song probably holds someone's feelings.  
You'll just hold on to it for now. If they change their mind, they can come ask you about it. Or leave you a note in there, you think with a sigh.  
You take your shoes out and prepare to put them on, but the more you try to just be on your way, the more curiosity pulls at you. You want to hear what it's like sung in full, with the piano chords scribbled underneath. Your mental reading can only go so far.  
After a minute of staring blankly at your locker, you put your shoes back in.

“Um, excuse me?”  
The teacher looks up as you poke your head back in, and blinks.  
“Chrono? Didn't you go home?”  
“I, uh, wanted to ask for a favour.”  
She nods you in. You walk towards her, closing the door behind you.  
She looks at you expectantly, and you take a deep breath before asking:  
“The music room's been free ever since the choir club closed down, right? Can I borrow the key for like—half an hour or something?”  
“What did you need it for?” She frowns slightly. “I didn't know you were into music.”  
“I haven't done it in school for a long time… but I used to do classes when I was little.” You fidget a little. “I need to work on a thing, and having a piano would really help…”  
If all else fails, you can try the one at home. But… you haven't touched it in a long time, and there's things stored on it. You're not even sure why Mikuru kept it. It probably needs to be tuned, too.  
“I won't cause any trouble, I promise.”  
“… all right, then. But bring the key back in one hour at the most.”  
You smile.  
“Thanks!”  
That seems to surprise her. But a moment later, she's smiling too—more honestly this time.  
“Let me get you that key.”

Sitting at a piano feels nostalgic. You haven't played in so long; at first, when you moved back in with Mikuru, you'd gone straight back to it like something to cling to, a bubble you could hide in, a reminder of a world where things were sure and safe. But without a teacher, you'd been hitting walls when trying to learn new, complicated pieces, and the sad look on Mikuru's face when she saw you play hadn't helped. Gradually, you'd stopped.  
You caress your fingers across the keys, your heart clenching a little. It's like talking to an old friend, only to find out that they've changed so much in the last few years that you barely recognise them anymore.  
And yet…  
You press one key, your fingertip delicate in its pressure so you can _feel_ the piano's resistence, its innate touch, the way it gives. Then another, and by the third note you've already brought two fingers down at the same time, adding to the melody.  
Tears prickling at your eyes, you add a second hand.  
“Beyond the world…”  
Right away, singing that song feels _wrong_ , painful not in a cathartic but in a bad way. You change course and switch to the chords written for the new song's intro, getting them into your fingers before reading the notes proper.  
“In the depth of the darkest winter…”  
Your voice feels a little hoarse, after using it so little for years, but it's perfectly pitched for you; within a couple of lines, it wraps itself comfortably around the notes and the soft melody.  
There's something kind and a little sad to it. You were right about it being full of someone's feelings.  
You keep singing. Your voice comes easier as the rhythm picks up and the range widens, your voice dancing across the stretching notes like your fingers across the keys. You let yourself be carried by its energy, not quite giving it the explosive power it could pack with a stronger interpretation but letting it run light and warm, a kind, hopeful, yearning call. You're smiling around it, not even caring about the few stumbling notes your fingers miscatch.  
“Towards the sun; towards the sun; towards the sun~!”  
You want to cry, but it's a nice feeling. Like watching the stars wrapped in a nice blanket and someone safe next to you.  
“There's light in the distance,” you sing, throwing yourself into the now familiar lines a last time with a little more strength.  
“Say, can you hear me now, in the sunlight…”  
You finish the song, quieting down for the last few played notes.  
The door opens with a bang.  
You jump, fumbling the last chord, and stare at the door and the person standing in it, blinding afternoon light coming in from behind them and blurring their silhouette until you blink it out of your eyes.  
_Isn't that…_  
“You!” Tokoha Anjou proclaims, pointing at you.  
“Me?”  
“Since when can you sing?”  
“… a while? What's your deal?”  
She frowns, then strides towards you, staring at your face from up close as if to make sure that you're _really_ the one who was singing, even going as far as looking around the room to make sure.  
“… okay,” she says, turning back to look at you. “You're coming with me.”  
“What!?”  
“Come on! Third floor, second room. You don't have any clubs anyway, right?  
“No, but—”  
“Shion!” She says into her phone a mere two seconds later, still all but pushing you out of the door with barely enough time to grab your sheets and your bag, “I found us our center singer.”

 

“Shindou?” the blond boy says in disbelief once Tokoha ushers you into the room and poses motioning in your direction. “ _He_ 's your find?”  
“I can just walk right back out, you know,” you mutter.  
“Shion, stop that. He's a miracle! A diamond in the rough!”  
Despite your irritation, you feel your cheeks heat up a little.  
“I was just singing a bit, it's no big deal.”  
“I didn't know you could sing,” he says.  
“I didn't know you were aware I existed.”  
He smiles.  
“I make a point of knowing people's names and faces.”  
Kiba, you finally remember. Shion Kiba. That one rich kid people in your class kept swooning about at the start of the year.  
“… I guess it makes sense in your line of work.”  
His smile widens. You sigh.  
“So? What did you drag me in here for? I gotta get back to the faculty office in like half an hour you know.”  
“Let me put it this way,” Tokoha says. “We need your help.”  
“With what?”  
“Chrono… we need you to become a school idol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm gonna write all the original songs. Have you tried writing love live style lyrics? It's hard.


	2. Chapter 2

“… a what?”  
“School-I-Dol,” Tokoha intones, hands on her hips. “Have you been living under a rock?”  
“Kinda,” you shrug.  
“Allow me to explain,” Shion says, standing up and walking towards you with perfect posture. “School Idols are, as their name suggests, Idols, although the difference with a normal idol is that instead of being professional performers, they're amateur students who form a school club. Think of it as the difference between a high level school sports team and paid professional players.”  
“Huh.”  
“Unlike professional idols, they're also responsible for everything about their own performance and image, from the composing to the costumes and staging, the communication and advertising… it's a self-made endeavour.”  
You nod. At least that part does sound like something you can relate to.  
“It used to be a very niche thing, and school idols didn't have much impact beyond their own schools, but in the last few years, both the level of the performances and the fame of school idols have been on the rise… these days, many of them are on professional level, and the most famous units have fans across the country. There are competitions, festivals… A successful school idol unit can leave their mark on a national level.”  
“… so what, you guys want to form a club? What d'you need me for? Not enough members?”  
He shakes his head.  
“Did you hear that this school might close next year?”  
You blink.  
“… no?”  
“It's supposed to be a secret at this stage, but there have already been rumours… the population in this area is aging, and since more and more students go to more popular schools…”  
“… and that's linked to idols how?”  
“Basically,” Tokoha says, “the plan's to put together a unit, make a big splash, and get enough people interested in coming to our school that they don't need to close it anymore.”  
“… _come again?_ ”  
“It's happened before,” Shion says. “Have you ever heard of Q4?”  
“I don't think s...” You trail off. Wasn't that the name of… “… I think I saw a performance once a few years ago, actually. They were doing a performance at… a park or something?”  
You hadn't even been able to stay for a full song, but you remember looking up, a little in awe, at their leader's smile and confidence. But then you'd run along on your errand, feeling a little guilty and a little sad.  
“Q4 are legendary in the field of school idols,” Tokoha says. “They weren't just the best; they were the best despite incredible odds, and their music and determination moved enough people's hearts to breathe new life into their school and save it from closing.”  
“So let me get this straight,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “You want to become school idols so you can copy some other school idols from a few years ago so the school doesn't close.”  
“Essentially, yes.”  
“… that's _never going to work_.”  
They both glare at you, and you almost take a step back from the intensity.  
“Wh-what?”  
“Why are you being so negative,” Shion sighs.  
“Only a loser gives up before he's even tried,” Tokoha agrees.  
“How am I giving up when I'm not even _in_ your club!?”  
“Listen,” Tokoha says. “We're not doing this on a whim. We think there's a chance because we have the right weapons at our disposal.”  
“Like what?”  
“First of all, I have experience in the whole idol field. I've been raised surrounded by it. So I know what works and what doesn't, how to get influence, the traps and scams to avoid, that kind of thing. Second, Shion's got a lot of business sense, and some relations, on top of his… popularity. And third,” she adds with a grin, “we have you.”  
“… why do you even want me? I don't know shit about idols.”  
“We need a lead singer. Someone who's not only good at singing, but at bringing the right _image_ in their singing. Someone with singing _charisma_.”  
You stare at her.  
“… Charisma,” you say, deadpan. “Me.”  
“Well, I had my doubts too,” she says, but before you can call her out, she adds with a smile: “but you were genuinely good, okay? I couldn't even _see_ you while you were singing and it still touched my heart.”  
“I—”  
You fall silent.  
Part of you wants to just run away. The last time you really sang _for_ someone else, you were a little boy, still drunk on his father's fame and the music surrounded him and the praise of his family.  
… no. The _real_ last time you sang for someone, you were in the orphanage, trying to cheer up a kid even smaller and more miserable than yourself. A lullaby.  
And then you'd stopped.  
You still sang, a little bit, alone, when wearing headphones or humming while you cooked, but actual singing? For someone else? With someone watching you? You haven't for almost ten years.  
And you're not sure you can.  
How can you touch people's hearts when you can't even look at your own?  
“… look, guys, I appreciate the offer and all, but I can't sing in front of an audience. I can't… I can't move people like you want me to. I mean, have you looked at me? Even _you_ thought it was a joke,” you say, nodding at Shion, “you _know_ what kind of impression I give.”  
“First impressions can be wrong,” he concedes.  
“Anyway, I gotta give this key back before I get in trouble. I'll see you guys around.”  
Before they can argue back, you readjust your bag on your shoulder and exit the classroom, not running but walking faster than you normally would.  
“Hey! Shindou!”  
You don't turn back. You _do_ want to run, some deep part of you _angry_ and clawing, bringing almost-tears to your eyes. You grip your bag harder and keep walking, but all you want to do is take off at a run and scream.  
 _What the hell. Stop that._  
You swallow the tight spot in your throat, rub your eyes to stop them from stinging, and head back to the faculty office.

“Are you all right, Chrono?” the teacher asks as you hand her the key back.   
“Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you for the key,” you add with a smile.  
Her own smile is soft, softer than you've ever seen it in class.  
“If you want, you can borrow it again, as long as the room is free. Just be careful to leave it in perfect condition every time,” she adds, putting her teacher face back on. “I'll make sure of it.”  
“… I'll remember that. Thanks.”

The next day, you see Tokoha trying to catch you to talk to you, but her own social skills slow her down; when the bell rings, two of her friends ask her whether she wants to eat with them, and by the time she's freed herself politely, you're already gone.  
You come back in just as it rings again, cutting her “Shindou” short, and in the evening, you're ready to take off at full speed.  
You don't like doing this. Being careful over what you do and where you are—it puts you on edge, when all you want to do is sink back into the background, never to be noticed. You want quiet. Quiet days, a quiet life, people who move past you without paying you any mind. You wish she'd give up already. You wish you could go back to not existing.  
The next day, it's the same game again. You make a quick exit at lunch, vaulting your way past a fence to the disaffected back of one of the buildings, to sit on the grass and eat your lunch in peace.  
You've barely started eating when someone cries out above you and something falls to the ground, a mere metre away from your feet.  
“Oh no…”  
A girl's voice. You look down at the fallen object; it's a lunch box, its side now cracked and some of its contents spilled on the ground.  
“How do I even get there…”  
You stand, and walk towards it, looking down at it and then up at the window from which it fell, where a girl's leaning out, distressed.  
“That yours?” you call out.  
“Um—yes—I'm sorry! I just put it on the windowsill to find something in my bag and—”  
“Go down to the fence near the back entrance, I'll get it back for you.”  
“Thank you!”

Five minutes later, you're back over the fence with what you gathered of the girl's lunch.  
“Sorry,” you say, handing it back to her. “I gathered most of the rice but some of it fell on the ground, but most of the rest fell out, and it's all dirt over there…”  
“Ah,” she says, crestfallen, poking at the crack on the side of her box. “Thank you for getting it for me, though!” she adds with a smile. “You're really nice.”  
You look away.  
“Don't mention it,” you mutter.  
“Um… Shindou, right?”  
“Yeah.” You stand for a second, a little awkwardly. “… sorry, I don't remember your name…”  
She's in your class, that much you remember at least. One of Tokoha's friends, even. You're surprised not to see them together. Maybe she's off looking for you.  
She laughs a little, quietly.  
“That's fine. People don't usually remember me. I'm Kumi Okazaki.”  
A burst of combined shame and empathy hits you in the stomach. You know the feeling all too well, and you don't want to make anyone else feel like that. You should've at least remembered her name.  
“Er… Okazaki? I got enough lunch to share, if you want.”  
“Oh, no, I couldn't—”  
“Consider it my apology?” you ask her with a wry smile.  
She hesitates a second, then smiles back.  
“Okay, then.”

“This is really good!”  
You blush a little, looking away.  
“It's nothing… I've been cooking for myself since I was little, so…”  
“That's really impressive though! You're good at so many things, Shindou.”  
“… Tokoha told you, didn't she?”  
She gasps lightly and covers her mouth, but you just shake your head lightly to reassure her.  
“It's fine. Just… do me a favour, okay? If she doesn't find us, don't tell her where I was?”  
She nods.  
“Um… Shindou? Can I ask you something?”  
“Sure.”  
“Why didn't you want to join our club?”  
“You're in it too?”  
She nods.  
“I'm not going to sing or anything though… I'm just there to help.”  
“Why not?”  
“I… I'm not really remarkable. I can sing a little, but in front of others, I freeze up. I don't look cool like Tokoha, and I'm not the right kind of cute that appeals to people…”  
You stay silent.  
“A-anyway! I don't really want people to look at me like that! But I want to help Tokoha succeed—I'm good at organising things, and I've been a fan of school idols for a long time… I can't be like them, but I think they're really cool, you know?” She hesitates, then bends towards you a little, whispering. “I was even a fan of Mamoru, but don't tell Tokoha that. It's a secret!”  
“Mamoru?”  
“Tokoha's big brother. He was a school idol too—one of the best! He went pro a few years ago. I really liked his singing… but a lot of people try to befriend Tokoha just because of him, so I don't want her to think that I like him more than her too… she's my most important friend.”  
What would it be like, if everyone knew who your father was, if everyone compared you to him? You'd never be able to trust people at face value again.  
Not that you really do, but it's not a fun perspective. And all this for someone who didn't even bother to say goodbye before he disappeared.  
Sometimes, you don't know why it was even necessary for you to exist. It's not like you've ever been anything other than an inconvenience.  
“… I think they're grasping at straws, is all,” you sigh. “I'm nowhere near as good as they think.”  
She stays silent, toying with a piece of omelette and frowning.  
“… you know, Shindou, you say you've just been cooking for a long time, but my mom cooks for us every day and her omelette doesn't taste that good.” You blink. “Those vegetables are soft and finely chopped and they still don't crumble when you try to take them, and those pickles are handmade, aren't they?”  
“… yeah.”  
“You didn't just throw in some easy veggies and lettuce; all of this takes effort and skill. And you're treating it like it's just normal.” She looks up at you, and you're taken aback by her eyes; they're—not hard, but firm and just a little sharp, a complete contrast to her soft face and hair. “Tokoha isn't just an amateur; she's grown up surrounded by the best. She has _super high_ standards. If she went out of her way to try and recruit you, then you must be really good. I haven't heard you yet, but I trust her judgement. I'm sure if I listened to you now, I'd think the same thing as her.”  
You look away. Why does hearing that make your heart feel so _raw_?  
“… if you just don't want to become an idol, that's okay. It's not easy, and it takes a lot of time, and I know Tokoha and Shion's plan is a little crazy. But—don't look down on your own talent like that. Don't hide from yourself to make excuses.” She looks away and pouts a little. “… it's frustrating for people like me, okay.”  
You stay silent for a little while, part of you slightly offended, the other mocking you for how well deserved that emotional slap to the face was.  
“… don't say you have no talent either,” you finally sigh.  
“Huh?”  
“For someone who stays in the background, you're _really_ good at getting into people's business and reading their minds,” you tell her with a side smile.  
She looks at you in surprise, then giggles.  
“Don't tell anyone! It's a secret.”  
You chuckle.  
“I won't.”  
She smiles. You hesitate for a second, then offer her your fist. She stares at it, blinks, then brightens almost blindingly and bumps it with her own, stronger than you expected.  
“It's a promise!” she says, looking entirely too proud of herself.  
“… I think I'm scared of something, but I don't even know what,” you say, out of the blue.  
For a few moments, she stays silent.  
“… maybe you'll find out if you try.”  
“… I dunno,” you sigh.  
“… well, I won't push. And I'll ask Tokoha to stop bothering you.”  
“Huh?”  
“But in exchange… do you mind watching something? Just once. I'll lend you the DVD.”  
“… sure?”  
“You've heard of Q4, right?”  
“Kinda? They mentioned them, but I've only seen them like once, and only for a few minutes.”  
“See, people always talk about Aichi and Kai the most… but I think you should listen to what Misaki has to say. She's my favourite!”  
You nod.  
“She's nothing like me,” she continues, “but her words inspired me a lot. That and she's really cool on stage,” she adds dreamily.  
“I'll watch,” you tell her. “Good luck with Tokoha.”  
She laughs.  
“I have my ways.” She picks the small cake you'd put as dessert and plops it into her mouth. “This really _is_ good.”  
You smile and finish your own lunch.  
“Well, should we get going? The bell's going to ring soon.”  
“Are you sure you wanna head back with me?” you ask her. “People are gonna gossip.”  
“I don't mind. Maybe they'll start seeing how nice you are.  
“Give me a break,” you mutter, but you gather your things and go with her anyway.

“Shindou, what were you—” Tokoha starts as you get to class with Kumi, but before she can continue, Kumi's walked over to her and put her hands on her hips, frowning.  
“Leave him alone! He was just helping me.”  
She blinks, and Kumi uses her chance to huff and take her arm.  
“Now let's go back to our tables before class starts.”  
“O-okay?”  
You slide into your seat as they get to theirs, absently listening as they keep arguing.  
“What _were_ you even up to? First I was looking for him, and then when I get back someone tells me you were in a panic over something and left, and I looked for _you_ , and when I finally get back you're standing there together!”  
“It's a secret!”

She hands you the DVD after school the next day, under Tokoha's raised, suspicious eyebrow. You pop it into your bag, carefully held between two books but not squished, and bike home.  
It's late in the evening when you finally watch it, after cooking, eating _and_ doing your homework. You slide the DVD into the reader carefully, and go sit back at the table with a cup of chocolate.  
Sure enough, it's the ones you remember from that one time. Their blue haired leader is short and delicate, but whenever he starts singing, there's something powerful that emanates from him, as if he was holding every person around him in his grasp. And with him, a taller boy with brown hair and a deeper voice, eyes that stay dark even when he sings, a girl with long white hair and a soft yet commanding voice, and a younger boy, that you'd almost have taken for a middle school student (although who are you to talk?), full of energy and emotion.  
And they're—good. Better than you'd have expected, or than you remembered. Shion hadn't been kidding about them reaching professional level. But more than their technical abilities, it's the determination they radiate that gets to you. There's something a little fierce and vindictive to their every movement. As if they were daring the world to take them down.  
Screaming _we did it_ with their very bodies.  
“Honestly, I didn't think we'd ever get this far,” the girl with white hair and a calm, slightly melancholic expression says in the interviews you find in the extras. Her expression is so different from the almost fierce one you see when she sings that your heart clenches a little. You're not sure whether it's in a good or bad way. “When we started, I thought the only way to make it to even average fame was to do everything by the book. I was very careful in everything I did.” She chuckles. “I the end, I was just scared to use my own passion and talent. By never taking risks, I held myself back.”  
“What changed that?” the interviewer asks.  
“It pains me to say it, but a rival once showed me what actually trying meant,” she says with an amused smile.  
“A rival?”  
“A rival once, and a friend now. She helped me understand that forcing myself to be average and only do things I knew I could do without trying anything else was both an insult to myself and unfair to my competitors. So I learned to trust my own talents, and to work hard at everything else. To bet on myself.” She smiles, and her eyes look as sharp as ice. “So although she beat me that time, I have her to thank for helping me discover who I could really be.”

“I'll be your center,” you tell Tokoha when you get to class the next morning. “Just don't blame me if this doesn't work. I still think your plan's crazy.”  
She frowns and squints at you, but you cut her off.  
“But,” you add, “in exchange, I'll try as hard as I can, without holding back. I'll give it my all. Deal?”  
She frowns harder, giving Kumi a side look, then returning to you. And then straightens and sighs.  
“Fine. Deal.” And then she smiles, offering you her hand. “Welcome to the team, Shindou.”


End file.
